Shining Light
by ArwenTurner
Summary: -Chapter 1 up 9 Jan- -INCOMPLETE- -Rating may be raised- Harry is depressed and sick of his life, until someone unexpected saves him. Warnings for depressiony stuff, angst and maybe some slash later on.


**Chapter 1**

_In a world full of strangers, you were my saving grace_

_You told me I was not alone_

_Alone in this place, no_

_I never believed it that a dream can come true but_

_If anyone has changed my mind then baby it's you_

--Will Young, Anything Is Possible.

Harry awoke with a start one bleak Saturday morning, fresh from yet another nightmare about Sirius' death. He blinked a few times, gathering his bearings, before rolling over and burying his face in his pillow. He couldn't go back to sleep, he knew it would be pointless trying, but, recently, it had been his favourite thing just to lie in bed, eyes shut, protected by his duvet. "If he was sleeping, no one could hurt him." Even if he wasn't sleeping, but the world believed him to be sleeping, it was alright. Then he had only one enemy to contend with; himself. For, even though the other students couldn't bother him, he still constantly thought about everything they had ever said about him. He was sometimes his own worst enemy. Over all the years of mistreatment from the Dursleys, then into his "instant fame" in the Wizarding world, which had also caused him considerable amount of pain, he had come to know his greatest weaknesses, and, the more depressed he became, the more his mind targeted them.

Being brought up in a house absent of love and consideration, Harry had come to cherish his friends when he met them in his first year of Hogwarts, this great school that had been unknowingly promised to him since he was born, this great glimmer of hope that was brought to him by Hagrid on his eleventh birthday. Obviously, he had embraced it at the time. It was like he had been born again, into the life he always should have had. He had friends, he had a school he really enjoyed being in, he even had clothes that fit him. Harry was happy. Fair enough, nothing is perfect, and he gained his enemies, and he learned the bad side of fame, that sometimes people only wanted to know him because he was "The Famous Harry Potter", "The Boy Who Lived". He didn't like being famous for living when he should have died. He didn't like being reminded of the fact that he is only famous because he has no parents, because they were killed. And people smile at him like that is a good thing?

Just as this frame of mind had set on Harry, he discovered he had a godfather. Finally, some sort of a family member, one whom he actually liked. Things were beginning to look up for Harry again. But then Sirius was snatched so painfully away from him, and, in a round-a-bout way, it was perhaps his own fault. This was the final straw for Harry, and, in the year and a half since that horrible night in the Department of Mysteries, he had slowly built up his barriers again. Isolating himself. "If he didn't let anyone close to him, they couldn't hurt him." He lost a lot of his confidence, and his school work suffered as a result. He couldn't trust anyone; he didn't let himself trust anyone. Even Ron had noticed, and it broke his heart to see Harry hurting so, but he had no idea what to do about it.

Which is why, this particular morning, he was unsure whether to wake Harry, or whether he was really asleep at all.

"Um...Harry, Harry..." He said tentatively, shaking Harry's shoulder.

Harry groaned and turned to face Ron. For a split second, they just stared at each other, and Ron could see the hurt in Harry's eyes, they had no life in them anymore, and the bright green they used to be had faded a few shades greyer. It was like the act had snapped on and suddenly Harry stretched, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. All unnecessary acts, as Ron knew he hadn't been sleeping.

"Ahhh, I'm up, I'm up!" Harry protested.

"Um, good. You coming down for breakfast?" Ron asked.

"Yep, sure, give me a second to get dressed." Harry said, as brightly as he could manage. Of course, Ron saw right through it, but he was resigned to simply go with the act.

Even eating had become a chore recently for Harry. Being a male teenage boy, usually he could always eat, even when he was not particularly hungry. But in the last few months, he just didn't have much of an interest in food. He pushed it about on his plate, maybe occasionally shoving a forkful into his mouth, unaware of Ron and Hermione's anxious glances at each other.

Each day had become the same, all merged into one big routine. He'd get up, go to breakfast, go to classes, go to lunch, go to some more classes, go to dinner, sit in the common room with Ron and Hermione, and go to bed. He was getting sick and tired of this same thing, every day, never changing. But he couldn't change it. He didn't know how to, and, sometimes he just didn't want to. Routine was safe. It didn't involve meeting new people, didn't involve any extra and unnecessary talking, it didn't involve any work for his brain. He knew he was beginning to struggle in his classes. He just didn't have the concentration anymore.

That evening, after dinner, he snuck off before Ron and Hermione could catch up with him. It was cold in the grounds, and dark, too, for it was still winter. The cold was refreshing, and he didn't regret not bringing a jacket as he made his way over to the lake. He found his favourite spot, just underneath a tree, just at the spot where the roots grew in such a way that made a comfortable seat. In the period of time directly after Sirius' death, he used to come here a lot, just to think, and to cry where no-one would see him. He hated crying in front of people, he had always seen it as some sort of a weakness. He cried a lot at that time, because, well, he was weak, he was lost and confused and felt he had no-one to turn to. The only one he felt like talking to was Sirius, but, of course, he couldn't. But he did. In those dark nights where he would sit at that tree, he would whisper out loud what he wanted to say to Sirius. Sometimes these "conversations" got so heated that he ended up shouting into the vast blackness of the lake, tears streaming down his face, punching the grass in exasperation.

But, for a while now, he seemed past the stage of crying. He hadn't been out to the lake for ages, but, now, as he sat, he felt a strange calm setting within him. Almost like all the emotional pain he had was numbed. The surface of the lake lay still and, reflected the stars in the black sky above him. He looked at them. Millions of tiny white shining dots, somehow illuminating the sky. It was breathtaking. Not a cloud in sight. Everything seemed so pure, so fresh, so calm and peaceful. He didn't think he had ever seen the sky like this before. He lay back on the cold, hard ground and stared at those stars for a while. A tear filled in his eye and rolled down the side of his cheek, onto the grass. He couldn't understand why he was crying. He wasn't even thinking of the sad things, yet more and more warm, fat tears rolled silently down his cheeks. He didn't ever want to leave that spot. Sighing, he raised his arms up in front of him, stretching them out, spreading his fingers. He flinched as the teardrops that had rolled into his ears were suddenly freezing as the cold air dried them.

He was bored with his life. He was bored with the people around him. He didn't trust them. They were all just liars, wanting to get close to the "celebrity". Even the ones that were his enemies were known just for being "the ones who hate the celebrity." The tears had started rolling down his cheeks again. He just felt so helpless. So out of control. Soon, the tears stopped, and his eyes closed, and his breathing got gradually slower and deeper.

He woke as the blinding winter sun rose over him. That was one of the horrible things about winter, although it can be freezing, the sun can be so bright it's agony on the eyes. He yawned and slowly made his way to his feet, stretching out his stiff muscles as he went. Despite the expected pain of sleeping outside on the ground, he actually felt quite refreshed, It had been the best sleep he had had in a long time, with no dreams of Sirius. Well, no dreams at all, that he could remember, but he did have the notion that whatever dreams he did have were happy ones.

Numbly, he made his way back up to the castle. Despite not having noticing the cold for most of the night, his body clearly had. His hands were slightly blue and his feet felt stiff and numb as he walked over the grass. When he entered the Great Hall, most of the students were already there, chatting sleepily and helping themselves to breakfast. He found Ron and Hermione and sat down beside them.

"Harry!" Hermione said in surprise as she noticed him.

"Morning guys." He said, reaching for a piece of toast.

"Where were you last night? You didn't come back to the dorms." Ron asked worriedly.

"N-nowhere. It's ok. I'm ok." He mumbled, buttering the toast.

"Harry, you've got to stop doing this. We were worried sick." Hermione said, a pleading look in her eyes.

"Look, can you just stop it." Harry snapped. "You two aren't my _parents._ You can't tell me what to do, and I don't need to tell you everything I do."

He threw the knife down onto his plate with a clatter and sprang up from his seat.

"Harry, we didn't mean-" Hermione started, but Harry wasn't listening. He stormed out of the Great Hall.

"It's ok." Ron said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He didn't mean it."

"Yeah, but it's so hard, Ron. I hate to see him hurting."

"Yeah, don't we all." Ron sighed, going back to his breakfast.

Harry ran. He didn't know where he was going, he just had to run. He sprinted up the stairs until he reached to the boys' toilets. After a quick glance to check they were empty, he whispered a quick locking spell on the door and leant back on it, panting heavily. He sank to the floor, tears quietly forming and rolling down his cheeks. He felt like he was going crazy. He'd woke in a relatively good mood that morning, now he was crying again? It wasn't normal.

"_Why. Why._" He whispered to himself.

Why was he so horrible to his friends, the only ones who had stuck by him. Why was he crying all the time? He closed his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh, trying to calm himself down. His eyes flickered open as he thought he could hear the sounds of someone else trying to conceal sobs, but he shrugged it off to his overactive imagination.

He sat for what seemed like an eternity. After which, he got up and looked at himself in the mirror, scowled at his reflection and splashed his tear-stained face with water. Moments later, there was a whisper of a spell, the door clicked and he was gone.

The bathroom was filled with silence again. Once she was sure he was gone, the sobbing girl crept out of the last cubicle, where she had been hiding all morning. Wiping her own cheeks, she made her way to the same mirror that the previous patron had used. She splashed her freckled cheeks and stared intently at her own reflection, and let out a long sigh of disappointment. She thought about the boy that had been in here before. She knew it was Harry Potter. Flashing a small smile at her reflection at the strangeness and irony of it all, she took a deep breath and headed for the door, her flaming red hair bobbing behind her.

_When the visions around you,_

_Bring tears to your eyes_

_And all that surround you,_

_Are secrets and lies_

_I'll be your strength,_

_I'll give you hope,_

_Keeping your faith when it's gone_

_The one you should call,_

_Was standing here all along..._

--NSync-This I Promise You.


End file.
